Walking Out
by Irena K
Summary: Companion piece to 'Walking In.' So while Vash and Meryl were, ahem, getting to know each other better, what did Millie and Knives get up to?


Disclaimer: They belong to Yasuhiro Nightow.

Author's Note: As promised, more Tirgun before a needed break. There's something strangely soothing about following up a long, serious drama with some short fluff. Especially when you write your first fluff without any intention of writing a sequel only to find a rabid plot bunny digging holes in your inner garden and eating all your lettuce.

And I'm pretty sure I lost control of that metaphor somewhere.

Rated PG. It's comedy, folks.

WALKING OUT

Knives could try to patience of a saint. Or, in lieu of a saint, one Millie Thompson.

On the short walk to the saloon, he had moaned, he had whined, he had complained about his existence, her existence, the entire human race and spiders.

She didn't quite get the spiders part. He obviously hated them but she wasn't entirely sure what a spider had ever done to him to make him despise them so much. Either way, by the time they reached a booth, she decided she would be perfectly happy if he never talked about spiders again.

Knives sat across from her and glowered as she placed her newly acquired order on the table. "*What* is *that*?"

"This? Oh, well, this is a lime." She held up a small greenish fruit that could, if one squinted and used an active imagination, be considered a lime. "And this is salt." She dangled the small shaker in front of his nose.

He frowned and pushed her hand away. "I'm aware of *that.*" He pointed at a tall bottle filled with golden liquid. "What is *this*?"

"This," she couldn't help a small, content smile, "is a bottle of original Cuervo Gold 1800 Tequila."

"And what exactly were you planning to do with it?"

"Well, we're going to drink it."

Knives raised one finely arched eyebrow. "We?"

Millie grinned. "We."

***  
  
  
Millie disliked drinking alone. She especially disliked drinking alone while a mildly psychotic Plant glared at her continuously. She sipped her tequila and tried to glare back but didn't meet with much success; Millie just wasn't a glaring type of person.

Knives, on the other hand, was. And if she didn't know better, she could swear he was sulking, too. No, wait, scratch that. She did know better and he probably *was* sulking. Strange how one of the most dangerous men (beings?) on the planet so often resembled a pouty five-year-old.

Obviously, this wouldn't do.

She topped off her drink, then poured a shot in a second glass and pushed it in front of Knives. He didn't even look at it. "I'm not thirsty."

"Of course you aren't." She patted his hand and he appeared vaguely ill at the contact. "But, really, it's no fun to drink alone."

"Watch me not care if you drink alone or not."

Good lord, how ridiculous. Was he going to act like this the whole evening? Time to change tactics.

"Ohhh." She nodded knowingly, as if just coming to a realization. "Of course, I forgot. I'm sorry."

He frowned. "Forgot what?"

"Well, Vash. And drinking." She held her hands away, palms out, illustrating their complete incompatibility. "He never could hold his liquor very well. I wouldn't want you to embarrass yourself. I'll just take this back…"

She reached for his glass, staying her hand when he placed his palm over the rim. The look he sent her could've frozen hell over. "I do not get embarrassed."

"I'm sure you don't," she answered. His eyes narrowed; probably trying to figure out if she was patronizing him or not. "And, really, there's nothing wrong with being a lightweight."

"I'm not a lightweight."

"Now, it's nothing to be ashamed of. Like I said, Vash has his own-"

"I am *not* like Vash!"

"Well, you *are* brothers and I wouldn't be surprised this type of thing ran in families."

The argument came to an abrupt end as Knives downed the entire shot in one swallow. He slammed the glass back onto the table and snarled, "Will you shut up?"

She nodded wide-eyed, even while on the inside she was grinning like a Cheshire cat. Gosh, being sneaky was fun. She ought to do it more often.

***  
  
  
Knives blinked. "W-what?"

"I said, isn't it a pretty color?"

Millie dangled the bottle of Midori from an out stretched arm, her grin distorted through the green liquid and dotted glass. She had declared her boredom with the tequila fifteen minutes earlier, moving on to this green…stuff.

Stuff. Had he really thought that? With a vocabulary as wide and varied as his, was that the best he could come up with? Stuff?

And the female! That overgrown, over-indulgent, brown-haired *human* who acted like a bloody *child* with her stupid smile and laughably obvious attempts at reverse psychology and eyes that shone bright, bright blue after three drinks and – 

And where had he been going with that particular train of thought again?

Forget it. It hurt to think. He returned to the matter at hand. "So are you simply going to wave the bottle around for the rest of the evening or do you plan on actually drinking it at some point?"

"Drink it?" she repeated, then shook her head and wagged a finger at him. " 'Course not, tastes awful by itself. I just like the color. Innit pretty?"

She was waving it in his face again.

***  
  
  
Millie was crying.

She wasn't overly loud or very demonstrative but her eyes were red and her cheeks blotchy, which meant she had been at it for some time.

With the alcohol fogging Knives's brain, the edges of his vision crept in around her so that she dominated all he saw, her hair flung around her like a crooked halo. Though humans were hardly at their best when in hysterics, she looked quite, quite lovely.

She was starting to draw attention from the other patrons and deeply embarrassing herself in his opinion. Why *was* she carrying on so?

Oh yes, that's right, he'd made a comment about the priest. How was *he* to know the two of them had been sleeping together? Humans attached far to much importance to the act of intercourse, as if a simple biological urge could have any significant emotional value whatsoever.

Millie lifted her head and stared at him directly. Though she bore no physical resemblance to the woman who raised him, she disconcertingly reminded him of Rem in that moment, face fallen in that familiar effigy of grief and disappointment.

"You're an awful person," she told him.

Knives couldn't disagree.

***  
  


"Here."

Something cool and cylindrical was pressed into his palm. Knives looked to see a glass of water now resting in his hand. Before he could ask, Millie said, "It'll help with the dehydration."

He grunted but drank while Millie reclaimed her seat across from him. She appeared much recovered, eyes clear and dry, though her skin still held a touch of color along her cheekbones.

She was…fascinating.

No! Human! She was human; imperfect, mortal, inherently flawed human.

Still, no reason *not* to find her fascinating when he really thought about it. Like a dog that had learned particularly clever trick.

The jukebox in the corner sprung to life without warning, playing a slightly discordant version of a popular song. Some nonsense about love and eternity and devotion, blah, blah, blah.

Millie broke into a wide grin and squealed. "Ooooh! I love this song!"

She jumped to her feet, grabbed his arm, and dragged him out onto the dance floor.

Oh dear, this was getting terribly complicated.

***  
  
  
The end of the beginning came when Vash announced, "Y'know, I'm kinda hungry."

Meryl frowned, then realized, "Actually, I'm kind of hungry, too."

They went down to the kitchen to find the rest of the gumbo still out but congealed into an unappetizing mass. A quick debate over the icebox led to the decision to celebrate their first night as a couple by splurging on a late dinner in the saloon up the street.

They held hands all the way there. Meryl's inner fifteen-year-old was leading a hundred piece band in a parade by this point though she managed to a keep up a more dignified appearance outwardly. But that big grin plastered on her face? Yep, still there.

The saloon was boisterous, loud enough for them to hear the rousing drinking song halfway up the block.

"Sounds impressive," Vash said.

"Uh-huh." Today, Meryl was perfectly happy to agree without comment. She snuggled closer to him as they stepped through the door.

And. Stopped. Dead.

A crowd of patrons was gathered around the upright piano, led through a somewhat garbled rendition of "Patty Murphy" by a flushed Millie. And there in the center of it all, banging away with surprising competence on the keys, was Knives.

Meryl pinched Vash's arm.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"Making sure I'm not dreaming."

"But you're supposed to – oh, never mind." Vash went back to gawking. Meryl wondered when the world had ended then reformed into this clearly bizarre new reality without her noticing. Oh, right: her, Vash, bedroom, no clothes. Still, awful rude of the world to go and do that with her otherwise occupied.

The crowd finished with a warbling flourish before breaking down into a laughing, joking group. Millie spied them by the door, whooped, then grabbed Knives on her way to meet them. She immediately shouldered Knives onto Vash and swept Meryl into a hug.

"Meryl! I'm sooo happy for you! You and Mister Vash are gonna be sooo happy together! I'm sooo excited! Have you made wedding plans yet? Can I be maid of honor? Have you thought about caterers?"

"Millie, I don't think – Millie, put me down!" Feet once more planted firmly on the ground, Meryl straightened her clothes and tried to keep the blush off her face. "Really, how much have you had to drink?"

"Jush a little," Knives said. He turned his attention back to Vash, arm pulling his brother's face closer to his own. "Vash. Brother. My dearshest, dearshest brother. You know…" He trailed off.

"Knives?" Vash prompted.

"You know," Knives resumed as if he hadn't stopped at all. "Ishn't she a little, well…"

"Yes?"

"Short?"

Vash looked to the lady in question. He shifted subtly away from her when something that sounded distinctly like a growl started to emanate from her direction.

"Ah, Knives-"

"Thass okay." Knives patted his chest. "You can work around that. Nooo problem. Nooo problem at all."

Then he passed out cold. Millie giggled.

Meryl curled her lip at the Plant on the floor. Ladies and gentlemen, the scourge of the human race. Isn't he scary?

Vash sighed. "And I was hoping tomorrow morning would be pleasant."

Meryl frowned. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"He's gonna have his first hangover tomorrow."

"Oh." 

Beat. 

"Ick."

FIN


End file.
